


Taste All Your Thoughts

by DeadpanPrincess



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First meetings and other things, Spies in the real world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 06:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadpanPrincess/pseuds/DeadpanPrincess
Summary: He's a CIA agent. She's an FBI linguist. Life happens in random moments.--Or: First meetings, flirtatious competition, and the trust and respect underneath it all.





	Taste All Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callioope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callioope/gifts).



> This is a Rebelcaptain Secret Santa gift for callioope, who's prompt was: "we’re both volunteers at the holiday charity and somehow we’ve managed to turn donations for the less fortunate into a competition to see who could get the most donations au"
> 
> This definitely turned out more abstract and much more language-y than fluffy, but I hope you like it all the same!

Cassian sits at his cubicle with a forced straightness. His shoulders keep scrunching forward from the hours of reading and evaluation, and he keeps pulling them back. A great day when he has to fight his own body for control.

Kay silently slides into the space behind him and drops a book on his desk with a **thud** . _Rush into Russian: Teaching Cyrillic to Idiots_ by Jyn Erso _._ Cassian is set to leave for Moscow in a week, and his throat still fights a few conjugations.

"Seriously?" He asks Kay. The taller man crosses his arms and stares Cassian down, unmoved.

"As I cannot accompany you on this mission, I want to ensure you are adequately prepared."

Cassian huffs, but flips the book over to read the summary. According to _Literary Review_ , it is a "comprehensive text on Russian for both beginners and experts." He thumbs open to the middle. Detailed pages of transliteration greet him, and a minimum of three mnemonic devices for remembering the correct pronunciation. A joke lurks there too, cruel and sarcastic. Cassian actually smirks.

"Thanks, Kay," he says.

"Don't die," Kay gruffly returns.

* * *

_She understands him in darkness and silence. When Cassian stops pretending, his arms rest by the raised lines of his ribs. The constant tension at his mouth and jaw softens. Those deep brown eyes lighten and become like the coffee he brews her the morning after: rich and filling._

* * *

Interdepartmental Christmas means a massive evergreen festooned with a homemade star and twinkling fairy lights. There are suits, dresses, a few tuxes, more than one pair of heels. A warm wealth of chatter fills the reception hall as people from all the different agencies mingle.

"I was told," Kay says, his lips dragging on the forced nonchalance, "that these sorts of events were meant for networking."

Cassian sips his champagne. The bubbles fizz up his nose. He coughs, a quick one-two hack of sound. Kay looks down at him. Concern wrinkles the very tops of his eyelids, though he is otherwise expressionless.

"Your point?" Cassian asks. He meets Kay's calm gaze. His own stays steady. Whatever flush crept up from the moment’s lack of oxygen hides under Cassian's newly tanned skin. An advantage that he relishes as Kay searches his face, struggling to read his emotion. They stare each other down; a too long moment of looking into each other's eyes before Kay breaks.

"You could talk to her," he says. "Staring is considered rude."

"I'm not staring. I'm assessing," Cassian bites back.

Kay swallows the last of his water as a substitute for rolling his eyes. Cassian gets the idea all the same.

"Alright," Cassian says. "How would you do it?"

Rather than answer, Kay sets down his drink and stalks over to Jyn Erso. She leans over her booth, laughing with the _moreno_ who mans it. Her red sweater sags, too large, and slides off her right shoulder. Brown fringe brushes the exposed part of her collarbone. All of her is easy, drooping, haphazard. A softness lingers under the hard mess.

Kay stands just behind her and clears his throat. She straightens, then turns. The bonhomie of a moment ago melts away. Jyn wears a professional mask, tight around the mouth. She is a full foot shorter than Kay, so he tilts down to her level. Her shoulders bunch towards her ears. The sweater dips further along her arm and covers her fist.

He says something, sound lost to the general party and his lips pursed to keep Cassian from reading. Jyn's frown deepens. The seated man behind her tugs a little desperately on his ponytail. Kay misses the concern and makes another attempt. He waves his hand airily with his next few words. Jyn raises a singular eyebrow. When Kay doesn't respond to her silent question, she inhales and pushes forward. They stand toe to toe now, Kay showing his palms in defense. Jyn snarls something riddled with profanities. The man stretches over the table to lay a hand on her forearm. He tries to pull her back over the rickety plastic. She turns her head back to him, but keeps her fists directed at Kay.

They stand off for one more moment. Jyn, the man, and Kay, all of them waiting for her explosion. Nothing happens. She keeps her focus on nervous young man behind her as she takes a few deep breaths. Realizing his dismissal, Kay stomps his way back to Cassian's wry grin.

"She is not amenable to the arrangement," Kay mutters. His fingers twitch as if seeking the comfort of a glass.

Cassian rubs a hand over his mustache. His smile grows beneath the cover.

"You told her she was wasting her talents with the FBI, didn't you?" He provokes.

"I simply informed her that the CIA was a much more selective agency by percentage, and that to be so courted by them was an honor." Kay turns his nose up at Cassian's soft laughter. The fluorescent lights gleam off his dark, bald head.

Cassian presses his champagne glass to his lips again. Carbonation sparkles and pops against his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jyn watch Kay suspiciously. Which, is a catch she makes easy as she glares obviously. Even a few of the potential donors at her table turn to find the focus of her ire. They catch sight of Kay's six foot, four inches and black skin, and immediately whip back around to talk to the man sitting at Jyn's side. He chats with them amiably, as if he can't feel the irritation sparking off of her.

Kay does nothing to discourage her. They scowl at each other from across the room.

"Okay, enough." Cassian places his flute down on one of the small round tables and slips into the crowd. He blends easily with the mix of agents, analysts, and directors. His trim suit and slicked back hair is the same as every other Washington crony. The only difference is the small Mexican flag pinned to his lapel.

He skirts around Senator Mothma and Director Draven, filing away their heated words to examine later. Just beyond them sits Jyn. He knows her by the falling strands of her rough bun and her obnoxiously red sweater. Cassian crouches, his breath ghosting over her bare shoulder. She doesn't jump, but sharpens so suddenly that she almost cracks her skull against his forehead.

"Andor," she grumbles. Cassian's lips quirk. Jyn cocks her head just enough to catch sight of the slight upturn. Their breath mingles, hot and tense, between them.

"Erso," he says lightly. She stays stiff. Cassian tips in closer. The groomed scruff on his chin almost grazes her.

"I'll make a bet with you," he continues. She blinks, languid. He assumes her interest from his lack of injury.  "If I get more donations, you have to work with us."

"And when I win?" She asks.

"I'll owe you a favor."

Jyn cracks her neck away from him to give herself a moment. Then her lips purse with vengeance.

"Deal," she says.

They seal it with a shake, never breaking eye contact.

* * *

Jyn plays games with a blunt, no nonsense, straightforward tenacity:

"Secretary DoDonna," she says. "I know that you're running for re-election this year. Too bad you have not contributed to your constituents' education like you promised."

Though, she can also be charming:

"Oh, I've definitely seen you in the Congresswoman's office, Melshi! Of course, who could miss you? Really? You would? You're really helping me out here, you're just the best!"

And manipulative:

"Han, you owe me. Remember when you-- _Fine,_ I won't say it out loud but you have to double the donation from last year. Yes, _double_ you bastard or I'll tell Leia about--Oi, I hate you too you slughorned ass kisser."

But her best move is that she always thinks two steps ahead:

"Ich bin sicher, dass sie bereit wäre, sich mit jemandem zu treffen, der die gleiche Leidenschaft für Wohltätigkeit teilt."

On the other hand:

Cassian thinks of nothing as a game. Unless that game is chess. And in chess, he knows that each move should be capital:

"Senator Mothma, I'm currently working on the assigned project, but I do need some assistance. Yes, five figures should do well enough."

Though, he's not above charm:

"Alicia, it's a pleasure to see you again. How is your grandmother? Of course I remember, she was such a lovely woman. Yes, she certainly would. Thank you, I really appreciate it."

And his manipulations are more subtle:

"Ché, que te paso? No mames! Ay, yo sé, yo sé. No--no te preocupes. Si, si. Especialmente--mira a tu bebé! Qué mono! Probablemente sabes que debe por su futuro, un hombrito. Jaja! Oye, este programa..."

* * *

_Jyn presses her palms into his pectorals then drags upwards. Her callouses catch on his coarse spattering of hair. He groans. She keeps her smile for herself, folding her tongue against the back of her teeth. Cassian wriggles his arms out from under her, trying to reach for more skin, more heat, more her. Jyn drops more of her weight down on him as an answer. Almost bare breasts replace her hands. Wicked hands, that cup his jawline, stroke his hair, caress the shell of his ear._

_She drapes over him, covers him, tries to make him lose himself. Jyn hunts for the glassiness in his eyes, a fever of lust._

* * *

When he meets her, he doesn’t know she’s _Jyn Erso_ . She's the woman who's saved his life at least twice through her work, but he only sees a short brunette with books piled past her chin. Her forearms and biceps tense with the weight. Some of the spines face towards him, and Cassian reads a few before she hefts the heavy stack into a more comfortable position. _Hell is the Absence of God, The Life Cycle of Software Objects, The Language of--_

"You're in my way," she says with a cutting British accent, only slightly muffled by the books. Cassian still catches effort at the edge.

"I can help you?" He asks. She grunts and readjusts her veritable library so he can see her green-grey glare.

"I'm fine."

Cassian steps aside. She storms past. A couple titles tilt ominously. He nudges them straight with a gentle forefinger as she passes. Somehow, she senses his touch. She whips back around to face him and drops her stack. They hit the marble floor every which way and some clatter onto their backs. Cassian raises an eyebrow. _Dramatic, no?_

"I said I was fine." She fists her hands on her hips.

"They were going to fall," he says.

"Not your problem, is it?" Her bangs fall into her sight line. She huffs upwards, trying to blow them out of the way, but they dissent. Strands curl over to her other eye and prop atop her lashes. She is a ruffled alley cat; claws primed to fight. Cassian consciously relaxes his shoulders, knees, jaw. All his muscles project calm--though laughter wrinkles a line in his gut.

"I can help you pick them up?" Cassian asks. He waves a hand towards the spilled books, a fan to the flame. She inhales further fight. Her nose wrinkles fiercely. Slim fingered hands curl into fists, but she does nothing more than eye him up and down. Humor curls from his stomach to his toes. She's dangerous, yes, but not unreasonable. If he further wounds her pride then she'll fight him in the middle the Pentagon, but she'll let him go unscathed if he drops the whole thing now. Definitely an alley cat, one who knows their territory well.

"Here," he says while dropping to a crouch. Cassian deftly rights a few of her books and brushes off imaginary dust from their covers. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches. Apparently, the sight of him on his knees doesn't bother her. He pushes his luck. Cassian creates a neat stack and lugs them up with him as he gets to his feet.

"Here," he says again. She breaths in confusion. Her nostrils flare. Yet she holds out her arms. Cassian drops the books into her waiting hold, careful not to brush any part of her. He smiles at her cocked eyebrow.

"You're not going to carry them for me?" She asks, her tone a touch lighter than before.

"You're more than capable," he says. Cassian offers her a quick, rueful smile and then saunters past.

* * *

_Cassian’s hips snap forward, but Jyn catches the movement and drives him back into the mattress with the strength of her thighs._

_“Jyn--” he says, a strangled grunt._

_She releases her grin, relishing her oh-so-sinful control._

_“Tell me,” she demands._

_“Te quiero,” he moans._

_“In French,” she says as she grinds down, too eager._

_“J'ai envie de toi”._

_“_ _Russian,” Jyn teases. She lifts a fraction of her weight off his lap, but Cassian whips his hands to her ass and holds. His fingers, spread wide, encompass her whole bottom. He digs his knuckles into the muscled flesh. She arches her spine. They both whine._

_“ебать меня,” he chokes out._

_“Again,” She says as she braces her arms on either side of his head. Cassian mouths sloppy, wet kisses on the bared line of her neck. They squelch and slap where their hips meet. Jyn plays with the filthy rhythm, constantly changing tempo until he begs:_

_“他妈的我.”_

* * *

The meeting drags on, as it usually does. Higher-ups try so hard to impart meaning with intel packet after intel packet, but all their droning just helps Jyn sleep with her eyes open. Really, she should record them for a nighttime lullaby. Add the poor, pixelated video conferencing software and she has an all natural sleep aid.

A notepad slides across the table into her relaxed palm. On it Bodhi has scrawled something in Arabic that she has to squint to read. Luckily, no one else in the meeting has any idea that she needs reading glasses, because someone would definitely be offended that she never brought her lenses for their pointless briefs.

She translates: _So, are you going to do it?_ Considering the messy curve of his letters, it's a miracle Jyn can parse out his message.

Jyn writes back in French; because why not?

_Non._

Bodhi takes the notepad when she tosses it back. He frowns, scribbling quickly then returning the pad to her. Director Guerrera gives them a _look_ with his one good eye. Jyn dares a shrug, but Bodhi slumps into his seat.

She doesn't bother reading his message or writing a response. Bodhi has his fingers raised just over the lip of the table to halt her. Which doesn't mean the topic is dropped. Bodhi might be jovial and sweet, but he has a tenacious hold on the proverbial (and depending on the weekend, literal) bone.

Sure enough, he catches her elbow after Guerrera dismisses them and tugs her into his office. Loose wires curl from his desk onto the floor, papers stack high on any available surface, and his goggles rest on top of his computer monitor. Bodhi clears a patch of space for her on what is _definitely_ the seat from a defunct ATV and props himself on the desk in front of her.

"Why not?" He demands.

"Because they're spooks, Bo." She says with a roll of her eyes.

"So?" He presses.

"You can't trust them." Jyn stands. She can't sit still with his brown eyes all sweet and trying to look through her tough outer shell to a soft marshmallow center. Not when there's nothing there but stale caramel.

"They'll tell you what you want to hear and then do what they want or were assigned to do," she continues. Jyn can feel the heat of Bodhi's gaze on her back as she fidgets with a random half-finished toy.

"He's not like that," Bodhi says.

Jyn clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. A sharp warning that has Bodhi straightening in his seat.

"No, really," he says. "I worked with him a while back. Just provided surveillance because I was in the area, and he made sure his team got out safe. Scored a really nasty gunshot to the shoulder for it, too. His partner had stopped to defuse a bomb and he stayed with him, providing cover fire the whole time."

"That was the Air Force, Bo. Now we're talking about the CIA. You know as well as I do that they don't share and they don't play nice."

"Well," he says, "neither do you."

* * *

They dance around each other, smoothly stepping from one mark to the next. Cassian notes her coordination. Jyn tracks the length of his interactions. Kay records how many times they break conversation with their intended targets because they focus too closely on one another (five).

"You've never been so sloppy," Kay says to Cassian as he secures another check to his clipboard of donations.

"I'm right on track based on _your_ calculations," Cassian retorts.

"The last woman would have added another zero to her donation if you had actually looked at her,” Kay says.

Cassian chokes on a sharp intake of air. Kay taps him on the back, but there is nothing to dislodge. Just Cassian’s constant embarrassment with that society deems attractive. Still, Kay has been told that touch is the way to ease another's discomfort. Cassian keeps coughing, so there must be nothing to the theory.

"You should probably give in on this ridiculous bet, Cassian. The odds of our completing the assignment successfully are significantly lowered by Jyn Erso's presence." Kay solves their current dilemma out loud. Cassian shoots him a glare from where he's hunched over from the coughing fit. Yes, Kay knows and calculates how much Cassian hates to lose, but he had never factored that higher than Cassian's pride in mission success. Apparently, Kay has to re-evaluate Cassian's priorities.

"I'm sure Draven will understand when you explain how Erso is a liability," Kay continues.

Cassian shakes his head minutely. "No," he says. "She has what we need, what we lack."

"Recklessness? An almost biological allergy to authority?"

"No," he snorts. "She has fire."

"I'd be more than happy to purchase you a flame thrower," Kay deadpans. Cassian smiles at that, his seriousness lifting.

"Not that kind of fire, Kay. She is..." He searches though at least three different languages before settling on his native tongue. " _Puro._ A type of purpose free of ambiguity."

Solemnity blankets Cassian again, heavy on his shoulders, and he breaks the thread of their conversation to catch sight of Jyn Erso. She plants herself next to DIrector Guerrera with crossed arms and a wide stance. They speak without looking at each other, but the line of tension is taut between them. Guerrera looks down at her almost fondly and Jyn turns to him with soft lips pressed sharp. Cassian marvels at the contrast: the woman he knows of and the woman he sees, before Kay pulls him back.

"You're speaking in senseless poetry," he says.

"Maybe," Cassian says with a shrug. "But I don't have an issue with it." He grins, at which Kay can no longer keep his eyes from rolling. Cassian smiles wider. Dimples indent his beard. A quick brush of light before he disappears back into the dark of the crowd.

* * *

He asks:

"Could I trouble you for a moment?"

She demands:

"I need a minute of your time."

He reveals what is necessary for what he wants. No one needs the details:

"I know the good that this scholarship can do."

She obfuscates because no one needs to know her damn business:

"My having it or not having it doesn't change what this scholarship does. Why? Does knowing the less fortunate make you more likely to give, you sadistic--"

Both have a friend at hand for extractions from uncomfortable situations.

She tells them the facts with force:

"CyberCorps is producing opportunities in an emerging market for at least six thousand new students and allowing them to cover the cost of textbooks, living, and _food._ Do you know what it's like to be so hungry that an overflowing garbage can looks like a buffet?"

He weaves a story:

"Look at Jamil. He comes from a middle class household, just like you, with two parents who work full time so he cannot qualify for financial aid. Loans are a possibility, but he wants to go into government service and cannot pay back the high interest rates on a federal salary. Now imagine this brilliant student, bilingual, who built a computer from scratch at the age of six, with enough money to pay for school, to eat, to have time to think. Imagine what he could accomplish."

She is accepting, but otherwise curt, when she meets her goal:

"Thanks."

He is gracious:

"Thank you so much. Your donation creates hope for those who need it."

They both always get what they want.

* * *

_He tries, oh how he tries to ride out the beat. Cassian strains to meet her every swivel, to elicit her soft mewl._

_“Jyn,” he says again._

_She freezes. The line between her breasts slips and slicks with sweat. Jyn looks past the heavy boiling of her body to meet his open, wanting mouth and the happy glaze of his eyes. Cassian, still and strict Cassian, wanton and at ease. Happy._

_Jyn grinds down, slow, slow, slow. Pressure builds. Anticipation, maybe expectation, adds another weight to the sweat of her back._

_“I’ve got you,” she says. They both keep their eyes open. “I’ve got you.”_

* * *

A Hoover roars as it rolls from one end of the reception room to the other. Every once and a while, the machine stutters, sucking up random debris. Then the clamor of air begins again, louder for the silence it left a moment ago.

Cassian leans on his elbows at one of the now-empty round tables. Jyn stands in front of him, balancing both of their clipboards on her popped hip. Each one is filled with checks, IOUs, and envelopes of cash for the interdepartmental scholarship fund. The same fund that started both their careers over ten years ago.

"Did you finish confirming my sums?" He asks, smug expectation in his drawl. They're locked in a perfect tie, equal to the last penny.

"You've missed something," Jyn sing-songs. She looks up from the current clipboard with a sharp smile.

"What?" Cassian grabs the boards. His is still the same, totaled in Kay's neat hand at the bottom next to where he wrote his first calculations in controlled scritch-scratch. Jyn's list shares her messy sums with the markings of a neater hand. Everything matches what Cassian saw when he first compared their donations. Except--

There's a crisp one dollar bill clipped to the top of Jyn's list, and she has a new entry in the blue pen he lent her for totaling. _One dollar, given by a very benevolent Jyn Erso._

"You cheated!" He accuses with more of a whine than he intended. Jyn bites down her humor. Her cheeks round and redden as she attempts to hold in her laughter. Cassian flushes. He knows how young he sounds, how sore of loser he is being, how successfully she has just beaten him.

"You never set any rules," she says, cheeky. Cassian huffs and scrubs a hand through his carefully gelled hair. A few strands curl over his forehead and into his eyes. Jyn tracks the movement, tracing the curve until she meets his gaze. Cassian can't move under her fierce focus. His hand stays trapped in his hair, his shoulders hunched, his other hand fisted against his hip. Jyn steps closer. They share the same sliver of space, heat radiating. Slowly, she pulls his unruly strand of hair back into his coiff. The pads of her fingers brush his knuckles. A shiver shimmies up his spine.

"Can I use my favor now?" She asks him, so softly he almost loses the question to the vaccuum's cry. Hunger darkens her eyes deep, forest green.

"Depends on what it is," he says just as quietly. She smirks, a pointed uptick at the right corner of her mouth. He wants to taste that self-assuredness. Cassian leans in closer. Their noses almost brush.

"Come home with me," she commands. He sucks in a breath, stealing the air they share. The other side of her mouth curls upwards.

"I--me?"

"No, the janitor."

Cassian laughs, a hiccup of gaiety, a break she uses to slip her clever fingers around both of his hands. Jyn tugs his grip from his hair and his hip to say:

"Come home with me."

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided not to translate what they're saying at the bottom, I think it's more fun (and less filthy) if you imagine it yourself, but feel free to Google translate! 
> 
> Also, title from Alina Baraz's Paradise


End file.
